"I think she was afraid to love sometimes. I think it scarred her. She was the type to like things that are concrete, like the oceans. Something you could point to and know what it was. I think that's why she always struggled with God. And I think that's why she also struggled with love. She couldn't touch it. She couldn't hold on to it and make sure it never changed."

Bob Marley on how to love a woman

“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.” 

 

- Bob Marley

❝When I say I love you, I mean it with every bit of my body, with every hair on my skin, with every cell making me up, with every breath I take. When I say I love you, I mean I love you with every bad mood you’re in, every tear you shed, everything you don’t do but should, every white lie you tell people, with every sad story from your past, with every time you come late on a date, with every flaw you might have. When I say I love you, I mean I love you with every smile you put on my face, with every laugh you tickle out of me, with every kiss you give me, with every hug you wrap me into you, with every touch of you against my skin, with every falling asleep and waking up next to you. When I say I love you, I mean it with every fibre my body is made up of, with every molecule I consist of. When I say I love you, I mean it.❞

I want to know how many scars you have and memorize the shape of your tongue.
I want to climb the curve of your lower back and count your vertebrae, your ribs, your fingers, your goose bumps.
I want to chart the topography of your anatomy and be fluent in your body language. 

I want you, entire.

I wanted to be a writer, that's all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towal, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all miexed up, like it's all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed. No matter what you start with it ends up being so much less.

If I pretend to be the air will you breathe me in deeply?and will you love me as a necesity- not an option? Would you spare me and breathe me out softly, with smiles and love.Please, breathe me softly. --Anonymous

& tu?

"Como cualquier menor adicto a las drogas con cierto grado de reflexión, mi afición por huir de la realidad se expresa enuna marcada tendencia a la lectura compulsiva. Devoro con la misma deseperación un libro de ficción librepensadora sobre psicoanalistas paquistaníes que una tesis que investigue el nexto que une Moby Dick con el nacionalismo. La luz del día sólo apartada con gesto indolente."

- Axolote Atropellado,

Helene Hegemann

"No" said the kid to the dentist,

and the fight for power began

his eyes were dark but they wouldn't match the shade of the night.

Neither was right, neither was wrong

but how could they tell when they were incapable of listening to anything but the sound of their own voice?

and the keeper was there to keep them from fighting, which she didn't do

and then she was lost, so lost, so lost,

too lost to be found.

The otherone ran away  
"anywhere but here" - she whispered, 
but how could they listen to her when all there was the wishful thinking of a kid in a dentist's chair.

I really fucked it up this time.

I'm actually kind of afraid of expressing my feelings on the world wide web, I'm scarred someone I know in real life might read it, and tell other people about it. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm scarred of what people would say behind my back, to show people I care about such things. And mainly I'm just sick of crying every single day, I have been doing this for almost 2 weeks. I've been feeling miserable over the stupiest things, that really don't feel stupid at all, and it actually makes sense to me to feel that aweful, but it's just embarrassing to feel sad. I am not comfortable telling anyone here everything why I feel the way I do, and I won't make any more remarks on the subject. I just feel like I really fucked things up this time.

I really do wish we could have been friends, but you continue to act like a dick, I mean out of nowhere, for no aparent reason. 'Cause last time I checked you were the one to call it off, this thing that hadn't even started yet. Well, fuck it. I deleted you from e v e r y w h e r e I had any way or form to contact you. 

no more IM, I even hid you from facebook. I'm officially clean from you.